


the doors are closing

by gyuuniku



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Clothed Sex, Crossdressing, Crossdressing Kink, Exhibitionism, Fondling, Gift work!! Merry Christmas to my love, Groping, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Pre-Game Oma Kokichi, Pre-Game Personalities (New Dangan Ronpa V3), Pre-Game Saihara Shuichi, Public Sex, Public Transportation, Stalking, Train Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 17:12:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16978605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gyuuniku/pseuds/gyuuniku
Summary: When Ouma thinks he saves a girl from being groped on the train, he isn't able to fully comprehend why that 'girl' looks so familiar, and why he's suddenly pressed up against the train door himself with a pair of hands running all over his body.-"This isn’t good, Saihara-kun, you really need to st-“Ouma made the mistake of glancing up as he spoke, and a pair of eyes caught his in the crowd.They were looking at him, they were looking dead at him as he was being borderline fucked over his clothes in the middle of the train. He wept slightly as the tears began to gather in his eyes, unable to look away as they maintained the eye contact through it all.The eyes, those eyes, he could have had a million eyes on him at that moment and he felt oddly aware it wouldn’t have changed anything.He still would have wanted to cum.





	the doors are closing

 

_This is (PART) of my Christmas gift to someone very special to me ((No I didn't just get them this I'm not that bad!!!!))_

_Thank you so much for being my Kagehara, for accepting my nasty self, and for being the most wonderful person I have ever met <3_

_I love you forever!_

* * *

 

 

 

"U-Um…”

The train car began to shudder a bit to signal the next stop was upcoming, but nothing else inside seemed to change, and Ouma was ignored in favor of shuffling movements and oppressive heat.

“Uh… Excuse me…”

As the train slowed down further, he became more forceful, his voice picking up an octave as the wheels began to squeak beneath the layers of steel under his feet. This caught the attention of the pair in front of him, and the man lifted his head, his eyes turned to the side to see the short student next to him as his head was quite literally immobile from the lack of space around him.

“What?”

“H-Huh?”

“What do you mean, ‘huh’? You’re the one that said something to me.” The man’s voice grew louder when he saw Ouma flinch, as if realizing his toes had been stepped on by someone who was not strong enough to even leave an indent.

“Oh, well, uh, I was just…” Ouma shuffled backward, or attempted to, but his back pressed up against the strangers crowded around him in the rush hour mass. He stumbled back forward the few steps after knocking into a businessman’s hard briefcase, and then some more, closer to the man now that his eyes bored down at him directly over his head, carving a hole in the top of his skull.

“I th-think you should get off at the next stop,” his head was bent low as he spoke, though he could hear the click the man made above him, so he could imagine his face.

“Yeah?” Was all he said, and Ouma swallowed, curling his fingers around the strap of his bag as if it would bring out some unseen strength inside of him. Instead the fabric just burnt his fingers while he rubbed it methodically.

“You shouldn’t touch other people without their permission.” He was surprised himself at how much firmness his whisper had carried, and it seemed to unnerve the man above him too, his feet creeping backward quickly through Ouma’s downturned gaze.

Inching his eyes upward, he mustered as much seriousness and grit into his gaze as he could, and pulled his lips downward into a shaky scowl. His vision was slightly obscured by the pieces of his bangs in his face and his eyelashes, but he could see the man’s expression, and how it twisted from uncaring, to perplexed, to utterly terrified.

This kid, whoever he was, had pure murder in his gaze. The dark bags under his eyes accentuated the unusual largeness of them, and made the dark purple ringing his pupils seem pitch black, swallowing half of his face and turning him almost inhuman. His pale skin, his dark hair, his dark uniform… Was he some sort of vengeful train ghost on the lookout for gropers? Or was he just a really creepy freak?

Whatever it was, it wasn’t worth messing with for what he was doing, and the man decided to take more sure steps backward as the train came to a full halt. It wasn’t a popular stop by any means, and the stifling crowd remained still, but he forced his way through and toward the door, his eyes on Ouma the entire time with a fear that confused the boy.

Had it really worked…? Had his simple assertion really succeeded in scaring off the groping scum? He hadn’t even said anything particularly caustic, and he had stood about half his height… Ouma did wish he could be the type of guy to throw punches and assert his morality with abrasive threats, but whatever ran through his mind, it failed into meek stuttering the second it hit the wet backs of his lips. But he had actually succeeded this time in saying how he felt, with the response resembling, for once, what he hoped it would. If it hadn’t been something that was negatively impacting someone else so much, he would feel elation, pride even, but instead he turned his blinking gaze over to the girl pressed up against the window.

Her shoulders were shaking, and her legs were pulled together beneath her skirt, betraying any semblance of composure her form may have given off. Instantly, all happiness Ouma had felt was swiped from his body, replaced instead with guilt he had ever considered his act worthy of any sort of bursting self-confidence. It was what anyone would have done, what _should_ have been done, but Ouma had been the only one to say a single word as he saw that man’s hand slip up the back of her skirt and begin fumbling with her underwear. It wasn’t anything to be proud of, it was what he should have done, and ignoring someone had suffered for it reminded Ouma he was still the worst.

“Um… Are you okay?” He got as close as he could, taking the spot that had opened behind her when the man had taken off. He was careful to keep his distance lest he accidentally bump into her and cause her even more discomfort, but the packed nature of the train car made it difficult, and he hid his hands behind his bag as he whispered to her.

Her hat, an odd accessory on a girl but nothing that stuck out to him, was pulled low and covering most of her face that would normally be seen. She tucked her head deeper into in her chest and shuffled with the front of her skirt, her high-pitched voice trembling when she responded,

“Why did you have to do that?”

Ouma blinked a few times before he dissected the disappointment in her voice, making his shoulders fall at the realization he had done the opposite of the right thing. When this type of thing happened… He had heard most girls preferred if no one said anything so they could just forget about it, and to keep them from embarrassing themselves in front of anyone around they may know. Ouma had publicly outed the harassment she had just faced, and must have put a target on her back by exposing this to everyone.

Even when Ouma had thought he had done the right thing, spoken up and used his voice for what he thought was right, it was wrong all along. It was wrong, it was worse than wrong, it was the same-old abomination that seemed to happen every time he opened his mouth, a stern reminder he should never do it in the first place.

“I-I’m sorry, I just… I thought…“ Ouma glanced to the floor at his school loafers behind hers, and realized oddly that her feet were bigger than his.

“Do you realize how much money he was gonna give me?” Her hand lifted to wipe at what Ouma thought were tears, but when it brushed past her mouth and left wet, a line of drool strung between the skin.

“Um… What?” Not the most articulate response ever given, but it properly conveyed the confusion swirling around his head at the question posed before him. Money? For what?

“Well, whatever…” She sighed in reluctant acceptance, turning her head to the side to glance back at Ouma with her long eyelashes framing her gaze.

Wait.

_What?_

“S-… Saihar-“

“Ouma-kun?” Saihara’s voice was no longer as high-pitched and foreign as it registered with his face, a familiar cadence that suddenly changed the entire demeanor of the person before him. It wasn’t a girl, and it wasn’t a stranger, and it wasn’t something Ouma didn’t know. It was something he knew intimately, it was Saihara Shuichi.

“S-Saihara-kun… Right?” Obviously, it was Saihara, and Ouma knew it was, but he just needed to make sure. He needed to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating something that would change the entirety of what he had just witnessed, and put it in a terrifyingly new perspective. Part of him felt like the Earth had been snatched away from underneath his feet and he was tumbling into an unfathomable pit, as dramatic as it sounded. Was there a non-dramatic way to react to something like this, though?

“Yeah, I didn’t know you rode this train,” his voice was unperturbed in its plainness as he turned back around and faced the wilting boy fully. His hat shielded most of his face, but a deep blush ran from his cheeks and neck and underneath the collar of his sweater, the sweater that formed part of the female uniform he was wearing. Ouma felt rude for staring, but he needed to take a long look to comprehend what he was seeing. His eyes ran up and down from his short-pleated skirt to the outdated leg warmers just above his loafers, back to his face, where he still seemed utterly placid.

“I-I don’t… I’m just running errands right now and I…” Ouma was justifying his presence when that wasn’t even the problem, and he saw Saihara smile lightly in response.

“Makes sense.” As if it was the only thing that made sense about any of this, Saihara continued to tower over him.

Saihara and Ouma were… friends? Perhaps that was the wrong word. Ouma liked Saihara, he liked him a lot, but he wasn’t the type of person to necessarily have friends. It never worked out, so he was fine with watching from the distance as Saihara mulled about his high school life in, what he perceived to be, total normalcy. A comforting kind of normalcy.

Saihara didn’t like a lot of things, but he liked Ouma. Or more correctly tolerated him, it wasn’t as if he knew much about him. He ran into him often, which he had never found odd up until this point, and every time had been pleasant. A bump into each other in the hallway, catching a glimpse in the supermarket, stumbling by outside the arcade late at night… Actually, now that he considered it, he ran into Ouma a lot more than he originally remembered. It almost felt like wherever he turned, Ouma was there, smiling nervously up at him. And he was here now, but he wasn’t smiling, he looked mortified.

“That guy- I mean, I’m sorry, are you okay, Saihara-kun?” Pushing his utter bewilderment to the side, to focus on what was in front of him from the neck up, he kept his eyes on Saihara’s unbearably bright ones.

“Huh? Oh yeah, I mean, I’m not going to get the money that guy promised me, but it’s fine I guess,” thankfully, everyone around the pair was wearing headphones, so no one turned their head as he spoke the degrading words. “He wasn’t a stranger, I met him online. He said he wanted to do that to me, and that he’d pay me if I wanted. And… I wanted to do it, too.”

Saihara giggled grossly, almost monstrously, after the last admission, his hand tightening around the fist of fabric he was clutching on the front of his skirt. Ouma wasn’t sure he wanted to look down ever again.

“A-And the outfit?”

“It’s cosplay,” Saihara’s voice was just as plain as it had been before, masking the absurdity of it all. “I’m surprised you couldn’t tell I was a boy at first. I guess I did a good job.”

Another laugh of disgusting proportions made Ouma tremble slightly, unsure why his body was vibrating along with the train as it tilted over the tracks.

“I… see…” Ouma didn’t see _at all_ , but it was better to just agree than cause a scene. Besides, this was Saihara they were talking about, he was sure he had a good reason for this. He was just trying to ignore the one the other had given him only a few seconds before.

But whatever image he had of Saihara in his head was morphing before him, deepening and twisting to an uncomfortable truth. He thought he had known so much about him, between the following and the watching and the ever-ardent listening, but the truth was that it was shallow.

“Ouma-kun…” He hadn’t realized he had been staring intently at his shoulders, the beige fabric of his sweater vest blurring away when he pulled his hesitant gaze upward at the call of his name. The eye contact was like a burst of electricity, the blush blanketing Saihara’s cheeks dewy with his own sweat making Ouma swallow.

“Do you think I’m gross?”

Saihara wanted to hear him say it, he wanted to hear him say he was a fucking freak. If this was going to get out anyway, he wanted to feel it fall apart in his very hands. He wanted to tangibly watch his life crumble to pieces, and he wanted to get hard doing it.

“No.” The reaction was immediate, and not what he had been expecting, the excited fumbling his hands were repeating stopping as Ouma shook his head. “Of course I don’t think you’re gross. Why you’re doing this… I-I mean, whatever the reason is you’re doing this, I know it makes sense, and that it’s important. And besides… I could never think you’re gross, Saihara-kun.”

The last admission was tacked on with a sideways glance and an innocent blush, though Ouma wished he had never said it. Now wasn’t the time to say such things, but as long as Saihara knew Ouma never had, and never would, judge him or see him in a bad light, then he would say it. As embarrassing as it was.

But Saihara had misunderstood by massive proportions.

“So you’re the same?” Saihara was smiling, grinning, with enough excitement he thought his face might split. “I never would have expected that from you, Ouma-kun.”

“What do you-?”

“But, it makes sense,” he rambled on, the bottoms of his long lashes tapping against his cheeks each time he continued eagerly. “You’re tiny and short, Ouma-kun, you would make a really cute girl. I’m kinda jealous. I bet you don’t even have to shave, huh?”

 _‘Jealous…?’_ Ouma was getting confused again, and not even his belief in the goodness inside of Saihara was enough to explain this one from his brain. Luckily, the other seemed more than happy to fill the void of conversation himself.

“Or, wait, did you mean getting paid? Or doing stuff in public?” _Or something else entirely?_ The idea that someone like Ouma could be as rotten as Saihara, maybe even worse, was riling him up more than he already was. Someone as unassuming as Ouma could hold a million things inside of him so well, then, because he had never even considered him in that light until now. _Until now._

Stepping forward, Saihara seemed to tower over Ouma, casting an ominous shadow that made the other shake for a confusing moment, “Tell me what it is you like to do.”

“A-Ah, I don’t really-“ Ouma attempted to object to whatever it was that was being forced on him, but when the train jostled as it came to a new stop and Saihara’s body was suddenly the thing being pushed into him, he lost the ability to speak. The air left his throat in a small wheeze as he lit on fire, his body tingling when his face pressed into the strawberry scented fabric across Saihara’s chest and the hard outline of his body molded into his.

It was an accident, but he couldn’t control his happiness. How long had he wanted to touch Saihara like this…? Weeks, months even, and now they were doing it in a way Ouma had never imagined it would happen. But still, he found the elation and relief that overtook his heart was more than his restraint at the eccentric situation. Finally, finally, they were touching. He was touching Saihara, he was right there, his heartbeat was flush in his ear and the shift of his muscles was audible as his arm wrapped around his waist and locked him to his body.

His arm was… His hands were…

Ouma’s attempt to pull away wasn’t coming from his true emotions, just a kneejerk reaction at being touched that had been beat into him through the years. And the fact he didn’t want Saihara to think he was gross. Taking advantage of an accidental bump on the train was unacceptable, but Saihara’s arms around him weren’t an accident at all. He was unable to move away, between the mass exodus of commuters around him, and the unrelenting hold Saihara now had on him, his arms squeezing the smaller boy into him and keeping him in place as the people exiting threatened to pull them apart. He had never felt so happy.

When it seemed that the traincar had completely evacuated, the new riders began to pile in, filling in the empty spaces until it was completely full again. Before that, Saihara managed to turn around, bringing Ouma’s stumbling feet with him as they stomped on his toes in disorientation. Flipping their positions, Ouma’s back was now pressed up against the frigid window, and was pinned there, Saihara’s arms still around him as the empty spaces replenished with nameless faces until it was packed.

“S-Saihara-kun?!” Ouma’s objection was muffled as his entire frame was overwhelmed by the other’s body, stifling his mouth with the soft fabric as it threatened to block off his words.

_The doors are closing. The doors are closing. Please be careful._

The announcement was punctuated with each deafening heartbeat that pulsed in either boy’s head, sending a roar that blocked out all other sound and all other people. Ouma had a hard time believing Saihara’s heart was racing as much as his was, there had to be a perfectly explainable reason for why he was holding him close, but it’s pace was matching his as his thudded against his cheek.

“Will you hear me out, Ouma-kun?” He felt Ouma’s hair shift when he spoke from his breath, and it tickled his nose, making him sigh slightly. Ouma smelled good, clean and fresh. Like something new. Something untouched.

Something worth tarnishing.

“O-Of course…” Why wasn’t he letting go? Ouma’s hands were flat at his side, never moving from his awkward rigidness in fear he may touch Saihara in a way that he shouldn’t. But it was hard, the way they landed made his fingers brush right where his skirt ended. If he moved even a centimeter he risked them slipping into a territory he wasn’t sure he was ready to explore.

Saihara wasn’t perturbed, and continued cementing them together until it felt like they could never be pulled apart, shifting as one when the motions of the train began again.

“You should do the stuff you want to do with me,” when Ouma let out a strangled noise, Saihara kept on explaining, his hat pulled low as he shielded his eyes from the rest of the passengers. “If we’re both like this, then we should do that stuff together, so we can try it all. I don’t have anything I really wouldn’t want to do, so tell me. Tell what it is you want to do.”

“I-I think you misunderstood, I didn’t mean… I mean, I’m sorry if I said something strange, but I didn’t mean I wanted to do this stuff too… I just wanted you to know I would never judge you, or think you’re gross, or… I could never, ever think you’re a bad person…” Ouma wasn’t sure he was heard, or if he wanted to be, because whatever Saihara thought it all meant was keeping him close. But after a pause consisting of only the noise of an older man sniffling beneath his medical mask, he was still holding him, not backing away.

“Ah…” A sound of understanding, at least Ouma thought, but when he felt the larger boy’s body shift beneath him so that his hips were lifted upward, it signaled something different. “You’re so cute, Ouma-kun.”

“Huh…?” His hands were creeping lower, now at a part that could only be dubiously called his back, and both the words and having an area of his body that had never been touched before explored by the object of his affections made Ouma’s face erupt a bright red. His eyes focused in wide rings of disbelief on the wall at the opposite end of the train, littered with advertisements, and Saihara let out a soft exhale into his ear. His whole body shivered.

“You’re always there, aren’t you? I see you everywhere… You’re always there…” Saihara’s hands pressed flat against Ouma’s lower back and they were warm, even through the heavy fabric of his uniform, spreading out to cover it almost entirely. “Did you follow me today because you knew I was wearing this?”

“No! I didn’t know…” Ouma trembled as his hands traced down his sides, feeling overwhelmed and… violated. By admitting that, he knew he was admitting he had followed him all the other times, but he wasn’t sure what to say. He couldn’t think anything, his mind was going hazy with only the feeling of Saihara’s fingers slipping to the front of his body, like two sharp branding irons caressing his body.

“W-Wait, Saihara-kun, really wait… This is-“ His fingers were slipping up underneath his jacket now, playing at the white button up that separated his boiling skin from the tepid air surrounding them.

“But, do you think it suits me?” Saihara asked, ignoring everything as he shuddered feeling the outline of Ouma’s waist directly now, tugging his shirt from being tucked in hastily so he could shove his hands underneath it. The feeling of his fingers was enough to make Ouma double forward, his arms finally moving from their solid position and lifting hesitantly to clutch at the fabric covering Saihara’s arms. Saihara could feel how they were shaking, and his own fingertips played around the sensitive skin on his stomach with a slight tremor as well.

Closing his eyes, Ouma let the equally disgusting and arousing feeling of Saihara touching him without really asking to consume his frame. He bit his lip before responding, to hold any other noises inside, only barely able to whisper out, “I think it looks really good on you…”

A rush overcame Saihara, the compliment making him grin wildly as he planted his hands firmly on Ouma’s waist until his fingernails were digging in. The boy squeaked underneath him, but he heard nothing other than the confirmation he had been thirsting for. _He looked good!_

It didn’t take the most perceptive person in the world to feel Saihara’s erection pressed up directly against Ouma’s abdomen, and he had been painfully aware of this the entire time, even when he tried not to be. When he was forced flush against the window it was inescapable, Saihara rutting upward and letting out a stifled moan into Ouma’s hair as his aching arousal found its first relief in hours. He had been hard since he put this on this morning, and when Ouma had interrupted earlier, he felt an almost murderous rage at the idea he wouldn’t get to cum in the way he had fantasized he would. But now, it was somehow even better.

Ouma’s heart, and other organs as well, jumped when he heard the noise. What was happening?

 _‘Saihara-kun… stop it… I didn’t say you could do this, this isn’t how it’s supposed to go…’_ Ouma was torn between the idea he was being molested on a train by his crush, and by the fact he was being touched by the one person he wanted to be close with more than anything in the world. Both concepts left a lump of arousal in his throat that wouldn’t go away no matter how much of his spit he swallowed. Maybe he was more like what Saihara was insisting he was than he originally thought.

“Cute…” Saihara was muttering streams of words that made Ouma melt into his ear, and he was glad his hands were keeping him standing because he would have collapsed long ago if it wasn’t for the support he was giving him. “I want to see you dressed like this too, Ouma-kun.”

“I couldn’t… I wouldn’t look as good as you,” Ouma clarified, and he wasn’t prepared for the loud noise Saihara made in response. “Ma-Maybe we should stop. I don’t want you to get in trouble, or for anyone to see.”

To see you dressed like that, to see you touching me, there was a million things that could have ended that sentence, but nothing did. Saihara just kept rubbing against him, letting out his strings of vocalizations that could be heard if anyone took the time to actually listen.

“S-Saihara-kun, really, stop… Someone’s gonna see, please stop…” Ouma whispered as seriously as he could, his hands moving to clutch at the front of Saihara’s sweater as he pulled back. He truthfully didn’t want to move away, or for it to actually stop, but it was only the deepest recesses of his brain that insisted it continue. Every other portion of himself knew he needed to stop it, for Saihara’s sake.

When he managed to push back so he was flat against the door, and could look up, he wasn’t calmed by what he saw. Saihara’s face was vividly red, and each time he panted, the neckline of his vest showed the blush traveled down to every portion of his body. His eyes were hazy, and his lips were wet, he looked like someone that had lost their mind to some sort of pleasure Ouma couldn’t comprehend. He was struck with the terrifying realization that whatever he said, he wasn’t going to escape this situation without it ending how the other wanted it to.

“I can’t…” Saihara let go of Ouma with one hand to wipe the saliva from his lips with the edge of his sleeve, smearing some below his chin. His touch wasn’t gone for long, however, and it was somewhere even worse when he gripped the bulge in the front of Ouma’s pants so suddenly it made the other yelp.

“I can’t stop when you’re this hard,” he explained, aware enough that he should whisper his next words. “You really want someone to take advantage of you, huh? I guess I found out what you’re into.”

“Saih- Stop, w-wait,” Ouma’s legs pulled together as the hand began massaging him through his pants, fondling him in clear view of anyone. “Don’t say that, d-don’t touch me the-ere.”

His objections broke into a telling moan as he looked down in fear at the hand groping him. It belonged to Saihara, it was pale and lanky in the way he knew, but it seemed so foreign. Because at the same time, it belonged to the person accosting him on the train.

Why did that thought turn him on so much?

“Shto-Stop, Saihara-kun, re-ally stop, I can’t-“ Ouma realized then he wasn’t as strong as Saihara was. In the context now, he knew the other boy had been holding in his noises more effectively than he had originally thought, his own pants and calls coming out increasingly loudly as he felt the repetitive palming infect his mind. He was going to lose it, he was going to seriously cum in a public train while Saihara groped him in a schoolgirl outfit. He simultaneously hated and loved how that sentence now made sense in his life.

Saihara began unbuttoning his jacket at the neck, though only down a few, until he was able to push it to the side and rub his hand over his chest. His fingers were hot and overbearing and smothering, and Ouma thought he was going to be left with the marks where he traced them for the rest of his life. The soft pad of his thumb brushed past his nipple and he whimpered, biting his lip and forcing his eyes closed to keep his noises, his excitement, and his orgasm inside.

Looking down at Ouma, with his bottom lip sucked inbetween his teeth, and his weak fingers both tugging for and shoving Saihara away, he lost the tiny piece of anything resembling control he had left in his body. A string snapped in his brain, and he felt something he couldn’t explain. He had never felt it before, he had no words to properly describe the searing pulse that surged through his veins when he looked at what was before him. He had never wanted to rip something apart and destroy it so badly with his bare hands, but keep it together in his hold, at the same time.

Ouma was just too cute, it was because he was too cute, that Saihara lost it all.

“E-Eh?” Ouma emoted when he felt the hands stop fondling him, and grip onto his shoulders. Barely disturbing their position, he only managed to open his eyes as he was mid flip, his neck craned backward to look at Saihara looming behind him when his cheek smacked against the glass. It was freezing, and the shock of losing Saihara’s touch combined with the feeling of the window made him scuttle forward, though he had nowhere to go. Cemented between the unused door and the boy behind him.

“You don’t mean that at all,” Saihara firmly planted his hands onto Ouma’s waist to keep him in place, and sighed brokenly when he settled the tent that was rising in his skirt up against his ass. Feeling it press between such an area, the cornered boy squirmed, arching his back unintentionally, unaware this only spurred on the gasping behind him.

“You like it that I’m forcing myself on you where anyone can see,” Saihara whispered close to Ouma’s ear, and the other could only shudder in response, unable to deny or accept the claim in his heart. “I knew you were the same as me, Ouma-kun!”

“You’re, hah, you’re wrong…” Ouma could see his breath fogging up the mirror, and the smudge the sweat on his face was rubbing off. When Saihara began to rock against him, he managed to push himself away from the metal and glass with his shaky arms. Looking back as much as he could, all he could see was the way his skirt hiked up and left him dangerously close to being exposed each time he humped him. “This isn’t good, Saihara-kun, you really need to st-“

Ouma made the mistake of glancing up as he spoke, and a pair of eyes caught his in the crowd.

They were looking at him, they were looking dead at him as he was being borderline fucked over his clothes in the middle of the train. He wept slightly as the tears began to gather in his eyes, unable to look away as they maintained the eye contact through it all.

He couldn’t imagine what they were thinking. If they needed to save him, like he thought he had done before? If they were disgusted with the consensual act done in public with no shame? If they even understood it was somehow worthy of both thoughts, but entirely not at the same time, and if that even made sense to the person experiencing it?

Or maybe, that they liked it? They weren’t looking away, and as much as Ouma wished they would, they kept on looking at him with something undetectable in their eyes.

They were watching, they were observing him getting taken advantage of, getting touched for the first time in his life on public transport. He felt detached from his body, like he was going to leave it at any moment, the confusing amount of pleasure that coursed through him each time Saihara rubbed against him making him light-headed. And the eyes, those eyes, he could have had a million eyes on him at that moment and he felt oddly aware it wouldn’t have changed anything.

He still would have wanted to cum.

“A-Ah, hah…” Saihara draped himself over Ouma and pressed his lips against his ear, panting directly into it as he curled over him. There was a large stain on the front of his skirt that only grew each time his erection rubbed against it, and his precum had spread to drip onto Ouma’s uniform. The black was now glossy and stained, and he wrapped his arms around his chest to keep him in place while he ground into him over and over.

“I-I,” Ouma squeaked out, his voice faltering as he managed to tear his eyes away from the other pair watching him and back at what was behind him. With Saihara covering him with his entire body, he was only able to see the repetitive movements his shoulders made as he humped him, and the blush that coated the side of his cheek that he could make out.

By the time he pulled his eyes back up, whoever was watching was gone, and their ogling was nowhere to be found. But their effect was not, and he felt shaken to the very core of his being.

He felt dirty, and seen, and used, and cherished by the person behind him. And he loved it.

“Sa-ihara-kun, it feels-“ he warbled when a hand snaked under his jacket and shirt and to his bare skin, warm again and blanketing him. “It feels so good.”

The admission was all Saihara needed to break, panting in Ouma’s ear as he stuck his tongue out and ran it over the shell and base of his neck. Ouma whined too loudly, and part of him wished the man next to him with his back turned would just turn around already and see him getting defiled when Saihara put his hand on the front of his pants and messily massaged him. If he wanted, he could have reached out and tugged on his suit, begged him to save him, or watch him, or acknowledge that he was getting ruined, but he didn’t. Instead, he covered his mouth with the back of his hand and closed his eyes, failing under Saihara’s touch.

One palm pressing his chest to his, and the other forcing his back to stay arched with his teasing hold on his erection, Saihara began to really fuck into him now. It was almost painful how taunting it was, just enough but not enough, the feeling of all of this through layers of clothing. But each time he moved, he felt the cute panties he was wearing shift, and the distant sound of someone talking reminded him of where exactly he was. He was able to ride an intense wave of fucked-up pleasure in all of this, the whole world drowned out into the blur of thrill he chased constantly.

And there were the noises Ouma was making, too.

“H-Hah, so good, it feels so good. I can’t- Saihara-kun, if you touch th-there-“ There were actual tears beading in the corners of his eyes, and Saihara licked one away, the salt almost refreshing. He continued with his motions, even stronger now, and the smaller boy’s eyes rolled back into his head momentarily at the shock.

“If you cum from me… From me doing this to you in public, then you’ll know you’re just like me,” Saihara was lonely, and as he said this, he had never fully realized how lonely until the concept of not being alone in his degeneracy was smashed against the wall in front of him. “We’re the same, Ouma-kun.”

How could Ouma deny this? He wanted him, he wanted him so badly he thought he was going to explode. The door was shaking as they moved against it, but he didn’t care, all he wanted was for Saihara to know what was about to happen, and what he truly thought.

“I ca-can’t, I’m gonna- please-“ The word ‘stop’ had abandoned his vocabulary, leaving him with only the ability to beg for what he actually wanted. “I want to, I wanna cum, I wanna cum with you. Saihara-kun, I want you to cum, please. Pl-lease, I want you, please let me cum.

I’ll do anything, please.”

Wasn’t that taking it a bit too far? Saihara has never said he wasn’t allowed to, in fact the exact opposite, but Ouma seemed to be lost in his mind as his tongue drooped out of his mouth while his whole face went lax. Was this the true Ouma, then? Was this the type of things he really liked?

 _‘I love it… I love this part of you, Ouma._ ’ Saihara lost the ability to speak fully, so he thought it, only making short vocalizations directly into Ouma’a ear as his dug his nails harshly into his chest.

He came violently with a few more grinds into Ouma, his cum splattering onto the other’s back in opposite colors. There was no warning, and as his noises made it obvious, Ouma inhaled sharply with the realization.

“C-Cumming, Saiha- I’m cumming, I’m cumming on your hand, stop-“ Ouma’s hips pitched forward into the steady but still hand pressed into him, releasing into his pants as a thick line of drool escaped his mouth and dripped to the floor. Saihara wished he would have cum on his hand, so he could have licked it off, or fed it to him, but the way Ouma whined brokenly was enough to cause his body to go into aftershocks. His dick was sensitive and as the boy squirmed below him it shot painful pleasure though his body, his legs rocked with violent tremors that almost made him collapse.

_The doors are opening. The doors are opening. Please be careful._

The liquid twitching in Ouma’s pants seemed to cool instantly when every single person around them decided to get off the train at that particular stop. His throbbing head was shocked back into a faltering reality, and he couldn’t even fully appreciate the adorable whines Saihara was making into his ear. Not when he knew everyone had heard.

“S-Saihara-kun, you…” Ouma was shaking in intervals against the metal door, and he felt the hand pressed directly over his pulse push in harder, as if it was trying to get as close to his heart as he could.

The air had cooled the spit that coated Ouma’s entire left side, his neck feeling crinkly as he turned his head again in an attempt to see him again. He just needed to make sure it was real.

“Ouma-kun…” Saihara had the ability to look angelic yet disgusting as he pulled back and looked down at him, the mascara he wore slightly smudged and his lips plush pink. When he licked them, Ouma swallowed, feeling something stir inside of him again he wasn’t sure he liked. “I got your uniform dirty… Want to come to my place to wash it?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Like I said, this was a gift for someone who I won't tag because I don't wanna drag them down with me all the time yknow ( •⌄• ू )✧
> 
> But by the time this is posted, they'll be sitting right next to me reading it... So, Merry Christmas! When you reach this point, please stop reading and look over at me and tell me if I did a good job or not.... ehe
> 
> If you aren't them, then thank you for reading anyway!! I'd apologize like I usually do, but this wasn't made for anyone other than one person, so as long as they like it I don't care if anyone else doesn't...
> 
> If you do like it, that means the world to me too, though!
> 
> Hmmm, well, I don't have much else to say. I'll save everything else for that person and end it here. When the holidays are through I'll be updating my pregame series so thanks for sticking around! I love every single person that has been sending me tumblr & instagram messages and I hope to continue being disgusting with you in the new year ♡✧( ु•⌄• )
> 
> If you did enjoy please leave some kudos and a comment! I respond to them all
> 
> Happy Holidays!


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